When I was little, my father made sure that I had everything I wanted, from Naturo candy bars to colourful storybooks. Every night, we would sit for hours and talk about my day at school, his favourite Indian comedy shows or my fights with my brother.

I always thought that I would break down if I lost my parents. Not that my world revolved around them but they formed the centre of it. Nothing seemed more difficult to me than living without them. But here I am. Living, partying, watching movies, setting goals, travelling, attending functions, and looking forward to life.

I feel a pervasive sense of helplessness, of danger, of responsibility, a sense of guilt and unreality. It is as though our earth has shifted on its axis and something unfathomable has occurred in the galaxy in which I live. Even as I realise that, I know his confusion must be so much more. It is a whole new world to him -- in an awful, confusing way, he must be in a city where the street signs are missing.

My father grew to love the little green-and-red fellows that flitted about on the Ficus tree. Once when I turned up, I remember, he dragged me to the window and pointed to the underside of a thick branch. "She's building a nest!" he said, though I'm not sure how he knew it was a she. Sure enough: we could see some twigs and other indeterminate material in a small hole in the branch, an upside-down barbet industriously jabbing at it all with her beak, flying off to find some more indeterminate material, returning to jab upside-down some more. We didn't ever see any baby barbets, but the thought of them hatching and growing in there was a delicious one.

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